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Poems,

Vingt

The leaves still rustle when the wind yawns.
The stillness is short lived.
Temper. Temper and controlled storms.
A million bottles of hearts that grieve.
There is beauty in your soul’s brain.
Matchless pairs make up your being.
You are unaware that gold flows through your veins.
Such sanity will cause a stone to sing.
Vingt.
The wounded crawl into hiding once again.
Petals wither at the hour before dawn.
Bleed the oil lamps and drop the curtains attached to the frames.
Then the green light will flood in from the cracked window screen.
20ème
We will slowly rekindle the dousing flame from the beam.
It’s time.

Poems,

War.

Our bodies are like two countries.

Each fighting for its own independence.

With tools that bite and soothe simultaneously.

The only way you can win this war is by amalgamation.

Only then will you be able to conquer and dissolve my granite walls.

Don’t fight for me; fight with me.

Give me a helmet for this battle.

So I can remain unhurt even when I fall into you.

Burn my flags and mount yours on my highest mountain.

Then I will become a part of you.

Ride to the end of my world with all your might.

Set my fields on fire; break my back.

Hold me in obeisance to your will.

Parade my territories in all your splendor.

Then, release: me.image
By JasmineTheJewel.
Posted from WordPress for Android

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